


wide awake, in a distant dream

by spiraldistortion (bisexualthorin)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Fingerfucking, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Power Imbalance, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Unrequited Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Verbal Humiliation, art at the end!!, canon-typical Elias douchebaggery, crimes against Martin Blackwood, did i mention horny but sad :(, horny but sad, in this house we love Martin and also apparently want to see him broken, unforgivable misuse of a performance review
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23114593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualthorin/pseuds/spiraldistortion
Summary: Martin shouldn’t be doing this. He can think of so many reasons why this is a bad idea. For starters, Elias is his boss. Fucking your boss is bad enough, but this gets worse. He’s on his way to fuck his boss who is also a horrible, slimy bastard. While he admittedly has never had great taste in men, that isn’t the real issue here—at least, not directly. The worst bit of all, the one that really reflects on Martin as a person, is that he is on his way to fuck Elias, and he hates Elias. Absolutely despises him. The thought of that man anywhere near him should give him hives. And yet here he is, hovering just outside his office, because he is possibly the only other person who understands what it’s like to need Jon and not be able to have him. And god is Martin in need right now.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard
Comments: 14
Kudos: 84





	wide awake, in a distant dream

**Author's Note:**

> I'm....... so sorry.
> 
> Martin deserves so much better and I deserve to burn for this sin
> 
> Basically, I saw [this post](https://wizzard890.tumblr.com/post/190811606872/absolutely-wed-to-the-mental-image-of-elias) and lost my fucking mind. It all just...spiraled out of control from there. This takes place at some point during/between s2 and s3.
> 
> Whether or not this fic is your thing, you should absolutely scroll to the end to see the incredible art my dude chuckee cheese made after we talked about this on the discord server. He gave me permission to post it here because he's not putting it up anywhere else online. If you love it (you will), let me know so I can pass it along! 
> 
> Also my brain decided it would be fun to pepper in the fact that there are fear entities while writing this, so there's at least one reference to each fear, excluding the extinction, throughout the course of the fic. So you can play a nice game of Spot That Fear as you get your soul crushed. As a ~~threat~~ treat.
> 
> Title is from Bound to Happen by The Spill Canvas because I’m Big Emo.

Martin shouldn’t be doing this.

He really shouldn’t be doing this. But his legs move of their own accord and he doesn’t seem to be able to stop them.

He can think of so many reasons why this is a bad idea. For starters, Elias is his boss. Fucking your boss? That’s bad enough. But this gets worse. He’s on his way to fuck his boss who is also a horrible, slimy bastard. Well, he admittedly never has had great taste in men, has he? But no, his unfortunate interest in questionable men isn’t the real issue here—at least, not directly. The worst bit of all, the one that really reflects on Martin as a person, is that he is on his way to fuck Elias, and he hates Elias. Absolutely despises him. The thought of that man anywhere near him should give him hives.

And yet his feet have brought him all the way up here from the Archives. Away from the place where he can do nothing but displease Jon—Jon, who looks at Martin like he is a series of disappointments made flesh, a nuisance with a cup of tea.

God, does he have miserable taste in men.

And so he finds himself here, hovering just outside the office of possibly the only other person who understands what it’s like to need Jon and not be able to have him.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But he’s doing it anyway.

He takes in a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and steps forward towards the open doorway of Elias’s office. He raises a fist, about to knock on the doorframe, when a mild voice from inside gives him pause.

“Martin. Do come in.”

Martin, surprised, peers inside. Elias is sat at his desk, bent slightly forward as he writes with a gleaming fountain pen that probably cost more than Martin makes in a week. He hasn’t looked up, so he couldn’t have seen Martin at the door, and he certainly couldn’t have known that Martin was coming. Martin didn’t even know he was coming until he was on his way. But then again, it is Elias. He understands, on some level, that Elias knows and watches their every move, but the blatant display of it here unsettles him, and an uncomfortable shiver runs down his spine.

He resists the urge to turn tail and run and steps into the room. He’s already here, so he might as well get what he wants. And clearly Elias had been expecting him.

“Close the door behind you, please.”

Just as he’d thought: Elias knows why he’s here. He clamps down on his embarrassment and tries to look on the bright side. At least he won’t have to ask for it. Maybe they won’t even have to talk about it at all. He pushes the door shut and locks it for good measure, wincing slightly at the telltale click.

At the sound, Elias finally looks up. Without raising his head, he gives Martin a slow, dispassionate once over before meeting his eyes with a smile that is at once insincerely polite and deeply nasty and Martin hates him. He hates Elias and he hates that smile and, more than anything, he hates his traitorous body and the heat that spreads low in his belly at the sight of him.

After a quiet beat, Elias straightens up, putting down his pen and smoothing the lapels of his jacket. He raises a sharp brow at Martin and gives him a look of haughty disappointment.

“You’re late.”

“Excuse me?” Martin reels, voice squeaking high in disbelief. He feels his cheeks begin to color, so he crosses his arms, clears his throat, and steels himself before speaking again. “Late for… what, exactly?” He aims for casual insolence, tries to make it sound the way Tim would. But he’s not Tim. Tim wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t want any of this. He imagines Tim would be disgusted with him for wanting this the way he does, this roiling, bilious desire. He wonders if Tim would hate him, too, if he found out, and the thought fills his gut with horrible, squirming guilt.

It’s not enough to stop him.

Elias shakes his head minutely and tuts. He pushes his chair back slightly but doesn’t stand, instead pinning Martin with a pointed look that is no less effective given from a seated position.

“Your performance review, of course.” Elias says blandly, pulling a thick manilla folder toward him from the side of his desk and opening it. Martin can briefly see a small picture of himself—his employee ID photo—before Elias flicks quickly through the pages. “I must say, being tardy for your review…” He pauses, tilting his head and sending Martin a disapproving glance. “You’re already off to a poor start.”

Martin’s arms slip from in front of his chest and drop to his sides. He looks at the man blankly for a moment, blinking slowly. This is what they’re doing then. He can’t believe he came all the way up here for this. He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the fog of arousal that lead him here in the first place, and goes to sit in the uncomfortable chair in front of the desk. Before he can so much as touch the chair, Elias stops him.

“Ah. I don’t think I’ll have you sit there for this,” Elias says, something ugly rearing up from under his otherwise inoffensive tone. He picks up a small stack of papers to his right and taps them primly against the desk to straighten them before placing them aside. He looks back up at Martin, giving him the same acerbic smile as before, and Martin’s stomach clenches in feverish anticipation. “I think right here on my desk will do nicely.”

Martin stands, rooted to the spot, and he knows his face is a bright, hot red. He feels a bead of sweat run down his neck, and he reaches to tug at his collar before he can stop himself. Elias’s eyes are bright as he tracks the movement.

“It also seems that you’re rather overdressed for this assessment.”

Elias leans forward, propping one elbow up on the desk and resting his chin lightly on his knuckles. He raises his eyebrows slightly, a silent _do get on with it_ , and Martin brings shaking hands to the top button of his shirt. He squeezes his eyes shut against the embarrassment, leaving him blind to the unrelenting weight of Elias’s watchful gaze on him. He’d rather be alone with his thoughts in the darkness behind his closed eyelids than facing Elias like this, vulnerable and on display.

As he finishes with the last button of his shirt, he finds himself thinking of Jon. He imagines Jon’s hands sliding up over his chest, lets the shirt fall from his shoulders with the thought of Jon pushing it down, easing it over his arms and wrists to pool on the floor. He sees Jon reach for his belt, wishing so strongly it were real, and he gasps as his knuckles graze his stomach as they undo the buckle, convinced for a moment that they’re Jon’s instead of his own. He knows it’s folly, a trick of his mind. But he embraces the sweet deception, savoring the feel of Jon’s fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, twisting against his hips as he drags them down his trembling thighs, pleasure coiling low in his belly.

But he can’t live in soft, Jon-shaped fantasies forever. He steps out of his trousers and briefs and straightens up slowly, eyes still closed, delaying the inevitable moment where he has to open them and face reality: Jon was never there and never would be.

He opens his eyes and locks his gaze just slightly to the right of Elias, unwilling to see the expression on the other man’s face. His hands itch with the need to cover himself, so he clenches them into tight fists at his sides, the bite of his nails into his palms an anchor against a rising tide of shame mingled with desire. He hears the chair creak as Elias leans back, and from the corner of his eye, Martin catches the way his fingers twitch, digging into the plush armrests.

“Well?” Elias says, an undercurrent of amusement in his cool voice. “Up on the desk then.”

Martin moves before he can think about it, crossing the space in a few quick steps. He hauls himself up onto the desk, careful not to touch Elias, and shivers as his bare skin makes contact with the smooth, cold wood. His legs dangle awkwardly over the edge, and he crosses them at the ankle to prevent himself from bouncing them in his anxiety.

“Why don’t you make yourself a bit more comfortable?” Elias prompts, and Martin can hear the smug in his voice. “Sit back… put your feet up.”

Martin’s head snaps over to look at Elias, his face arranged in the exact sort of self-satisfied smile Martin imagined. Anger flares in his chest, burning up his throat, and he nearly chokes on it. He looks away, grumbling.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to play with your food?” Martin mutters peevishly, scooting back on the desk to make room for his legs. He perches his feet on the edge of the desk, face red and thighs clamped shut in his humiliation.

Elias laughs, a biting sound devoid of real humor, and the smile he gives Martin is sharp with teeth.

“Quite right, Martin,” Elias says, and the look in his eyes makes Martin squeeze his thighs together for an altogether different reason. “I’m far too hungry for games.”

In one smooth motion, Elias stands. Without breaking eye contact, he removes his jacket and drapes it neatly over the back of the chair. His eyes move from Martin’s face, and his breath hitches in his throat as Elias’s gaze travels down the length of his body to rest on his thighs.

“Spread your legs.”

Martin whimpers softly and lets his thighs fall open. He feels pinned under Elias’s scrutiny, trussed up and helpless, like he’s about to be swallowed whole.

“That’s it,” Elias murmurs gently, as if Martin were a spooked animal needing to be coaxed into docility. He walks slowly around the front of his desk, out of Martin’s line of sight. Martin turns his head to follow, trying to look as if he’s idly watching Elias instead of anxiously tracking his movement. He imagines this is what it feels like to be stalked by a predator, though he doesn’t know of any prey that waits in anticipation of being eaten alive.

“Let it not be said that you’re incapable of following directions,” Elias says with a hint of approval in his voice. Martin hears a slight rustling behind him, just beyond where he can see, and tries to hold still. “You can be very good, when you put your mind to it.”

Martin hears a soft clinking to his right and jolts, almost pitching forward off the desk. He looks down and sees that Elias has removed his cufflinks and deposited them in a small dish inches away from his bare hip.

“Tell me,” Elias starts, voice like silk next to his ear. “Are you this good for Jon?”

Martin sucks in a breath and feels himself flush all the way down his chest. He turns his head forward again and closes his eyes, unwilling to watch as he hears Elias circle his way back in front of him.

“I suppose not,” Elias murmurs softly, dangerously. “If you were, I imagine he’d be the one to have you in his office right now.”

Martin snaps his eyes open to glare up at him only to find that Elias isn’t looking. His gaze is directed downward as he rolls up a sleeve, and Martin watches as Elias cuffs it twice, slowly and exactly, snapping down the edges until they’re crisp and sharp. Martin finds he can’t look away, eyes fixed intently on the way that the lean muscles in Elias’s exposed forearm move and shift as he reaches to give the same treatment to the other sleeve.

As he finishes, he shoots Martin an appraising look, eyes glancing between his open thighs and slowly moving up his chest, throat, finally coming to rest on his face. His expression looks bored, disinterested, but his eyes are dark and hungry. Martin clenches down on nothing as desire spikes through him, and he tips his chin and looks back at Elias coolly, trying to seem in control of himself. He’s embarrassingly wet, and there’s no way that Elias doesn’t know. He can only imagine what he looks like, perched naked on the edge of the desk, legs spread and slit glistening, cock jutting stiffly out from between puffy lips. He’d be humiliated if he weren’t consumed by heat and helpless, desperate want.

Elias maintains eye contact as he brings his right hand up slightly and removes the ornate gold ring that he wears on his fourth finger. He reaches across Martin, leaning slightly into his space but not making any contact, and drops the ring into the dish with his cufflinks. Martin tries to swallow but finds that his mouth has gone very, very dry.

Elias steps in closer and braces his left arm on the desk, bracketing Martin’s hip but still not touching him. Martin fights with his body to stay still instead of flinching away or arching towards the man in front of him. He hates how close Elias is, hates that it’s still too far, hates that he wants this so badly, needs it. Elias looms over him for a moment, silent and still. He looks down his nose at Martin, eyes momentarily flicking to his mouth. Martin licks his lips unconsciously, and Elias’s eyes follow the movement greedily. The moment hangs heavy between them, and Martin, red and exposed and nearly panting, can barely keep himself from squirming under the scrutiny.

“I wonder,” Elias says, breaking the silence and bringing his fingers up to rub lightly against Martin’s slit. Martin can’t stop the hiss that escapes through his clenched teeth, and he spreads his thighs wide enough that they burn from the stretch. Elias rubs slow circles around his cock, spreading the slick he finds there. “Do you think about Jon doing this to you?”

“F-fuck you,” Martin bites out around a groan. Elias knows the answer—of course he does. He knows that Martin wouldn’t be here if Jon felt the same way. But here he is, spread out and open on this bastard’s desk, gasping and practically gagging for it. And despite his better judgement, he came here of his own volition. Just like Elias knew he would.

“Such language,” Elias admonishes, stilling his fingers and keeping them only just barely pressed to Martin’s cock. Martin whines and tries to buck his hips up into Elias’s hand.

“Ah ah,” Elias tuts and removes his hand completely, and Martin, to his own mortification, cries out at the loss.

“And to think I had just said you could be good.” Elias shakes his head as if Martin has let him down. “If you’re not willing to behave,” he says, bringing his fingers back only to slide up his slick lips, too light to be anything but torture, “then this performance review is over and you can leave my office.”

Martin stares up at Elias in utter disbelief. He couldn’t possibly be serious. But the more Martin looks at his face, the more he realizes that he is—deadly so. Elias would stop this right here and now and kick him out, leaving him bereft and wanting and, most of all, ashamed. Ashamed and with nothing to show for it but soaked briefs and the agony of no release. He feels something like panic rise in his throat.

“No! P—” Martin clamps his mouth shut before the word can escape. He won’t beg this man, no matter how desperate he is. He draws in a deep, shaky breath and closes his eyes. His voice is low, barely a whisper. “I’ll behave.”

Elias hums, a pleased little sound, and brings his fingers back to his cock, rubbing firmly as Martin gasps. “See? Is it so difficult to be pleasant?” His voice is sweet in its admonishment, light while his fingers press harder against Martin’s cock, points of pleasure nearly edging into pain. Martin whimpers in response.

“Now, back to your review,” Elias says, business-as-usual even as his fingers begin to rub firm circles around Martin’s cock. It would be bliss, but for the sound of flipping pages to his right. Martin’s eyes fly open to see that Elias is using his unoccupied hand to turn the pages of his employee file. Martin stares incredulously, feeling dizzy as he watches Elias flip idly through it.

“Your performance this quarter has been, if I may be frank, subpar,” Elias informs him, sounding disappointed, as if he expected so much more from Martin. The insult is a heady counterpoint to his fingers, which have begun to move more quickly, drawing tighter circles around Martin’s cock. Martin feels as if he’s being wound up, slowly but surely, twisted around and around until he inevitably snaps, coming apart into pieces too small and jagged to be put back together.

Elias leans toward him, eyes still on the file though the hand turning the pages has stopped, gripping the edge of one page with white knuckles. Martin can almost taste his release, spine arching and thigh muscles tensing as clever fingers draw him closer and closer to the point of no return.

“If only you’d give your work the same attention you pay Jon.”

Martin falls, pitching forward off the edge into an expanse of sensation, a single heaving point of pleasure. He gasps sharply, trying to catch his breath, but Elias slides his fingers down and plunges into him without warning, ripping a hoarse yell from his throat. Elias starts fucking him in earnest, giving Martin no chance to adjust to the burning stretch of his fingers inside him. His eyes water as the thread of pleasure is pulled taut and singing into overstimulation. His whimpers only seem to spur Elias on, and he hears the pages start to turn once again.

“It’s important to be _thorough_ in your work, wouldn’t you agree?” Martin can hear the smirk in his voice and doesn’t answer. He’d be angry, properly furious, if there were space in his mind for anything other than the tightrope walk between _too much_ and _more_. As it is, it’s hard enough to stay balanced with Elias’s fingers moving inside him, threatening to shake him apart again.

All of a sudden, Elias pulls out his fingers with a loud, wet sound, and Martin clenches down on the abrupt emptiness inside him with a wail. Elias jabs his fingers into the space just above his entrance, a sharp, cruel reminder that Elias can withhold his pleasure, that Elias can instead give him pain. Martin pants as he squeezes his watering eyes tightly shut, tears threatening to spill.

“I asked you a question, Martin.” Elias says darkly and bears down steadily with his fingers. The pressure becomes all-encompassing, building quickly from stinging discomfort to searing agony. Martin wants to clamp his thighs shut, cut himself off from the anguish of this, all of it. He thinks briefly about Jon, imagines that he would be gentle, maybe even loving. The thought of Jon smiling softly at him, the unyielding press of Elias’s fingers against him—unbearable. Jon pressed up against him, relief from the crushing pressure trying to collapse him in on himself—more things he can’t have, doesn’t deserve to have. No, he instead gets this unforgiving thrust of fingers, stripped bare on the desk of a man who would close his eyes and see Jon as well. This Martin deserves.

“Yes,” Martin rasps, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as Elias eases back his fingers. He rubs gently on the aching spot as if to soothe, but it brings Martin no comfort.

“Yes _what_?” Elias leads, voice haughty as he presses his fingers back down again. Martin yelps, nearly bucking off the desk at the bright flash of pain. He knows now that Elias has him, deft fingers against him, tugging expertly at the strings of excruciating pleasure and sweet pain encompassing him, moving him exactly where he wants him. He is achingly aroused, willing to do or say nearly anything if it gets Elias to fuck him again

“Yes! It’s important! I’ll be more thorough.” Martin’s moan is high and choked as Elias pushes his fingers back inside.

“So quick to be good, given the right direction,” Elias says with a pointed thrust against the spot inside that makes him see stars. The first tears slip from his eyes, and he hears a sharp intake of breath in front of him as they run their way down his burning cheeks. He clenches down on Elias’s fingers as they curl inside him, beckoning to the overwhelming rush of emotion unfurling in his chest. As tears begin to spill, so do words, unbidden and half-babbled, torn from his throat. He promises to be good, to be _better_ , to make him see that he can do this right, that he can be worth it. He doesn’t know who it is he’s trying to convince anymore.

He opens his eyes, lashes clinging together wetly, and words leave him entirely. Elias is leaned in close, staring down at him with an intensity that near burns. He looks back, eyes half-lidded, bitten-red lips parted around a gasp. Elias’s eyes fix on his mouth, and for one wild, breathless moment, Martin thinks that Elias is going to kiss him. He watches with fluttering eyes, breath hitching as the fingers inside him lose their perfect control, thrusts desperate and stinging. His lips tingle, as if Elias’s burning gaze on them were a physical touch, and he lets himself be consumed by the curling flame of desire that licks into his mind, hollowing him out and flaying his nerves raw.

He wants Elias to kiss him. He wants to run. He wants Elias to kiss him so he can close his eyes and imagine it’s Jon. He wants to walk out of this office and never come back. He wants Elias to kiss him so he can watch his face as he imagines Jon in his place. He wants and wants and doesn’t know what it is that he wants, so he whispers into the space between them, where they both wish Jon were instead.

“Please.”

Elias’s eyes snap up to meet his, and he’s so close that Martin can see his own face reflected back at him. Martin sees something in them during the long minute they watch each other, something vulnerable, something like longing. He wonders what it is that Elias sees. Does he know what Martin wants? Will he give it to him? Is he, too, lost in the delusion, imagining black hair streaked with silver, dark eyes instead of light?

Before Martin can do anything, Elias’s eyes focus properly on him and once more turn hard, whatever door that had opened now slammed shut. Elias leans back and away from him, lips curling cruelly, and Martin shuts his eyes against the horrible loneliness that presses against him.

“One would figure, with how eager you are to please, that you would be better at your job,” Elias sneers, punctuating it with a brutal upwards twist of his fingers. “No wonder Jon finds you utterly lacking.”

Martin makes a noise that is more sob than groan, and Elias responds by adding a third finger when he fucks back into him, and then a fourth. As wet and loose as he is, Martin is not prepared for the exquisite stretch of them inside him all at once, and he falls back onto his elbows as his shaking forearms give out. The desk groans and creaks underneath him as Elias fucks him with bruising strength, jaw clenched and eyes steely as he watches Martin’s body jolt with the force of his thrusts.

“It’s pathetic how badly you want him,” Elias all but snarls. His fucks him with a violence that Martin can scarcely bear, and one of his feet slips off the desk as his hips buck wildly against Elias’s hand. “You would do anything for him, even _debase_ yourself for him.”

As if in example, he presses his thumb down hard on his cock, using the contact as a fulcrum to relentlessly drive his fingers upward inside him. Martin shakes his head, tears falling again. He can’t take this, he can’t, he can’t—

“But he doesn’t want you.” Elias hisses. Martin trembles, his entire awareness narrowed down to the building pressure inside him, the venomous hiss in his ear. “You are _nothing_ to him.”

A yawning chasm opens in Martin’s chest, and he’s swallowed up in its depths. His body shakes apart around him, and he struggles to process the tidal wave of sensation that crashes over him. He isn’t sure if he’s come or if he’s died or both, just that it’s too much, too much to bear, too much to exist. The darkness behind his eyelids solidifies and, for a moment, everything else ceases to be.

He comes back around when Elias’s fingers slip out of him, leaving him gaping and empty. He opens his eyes blearily to see Elias looking down at his hand, rubbing his fingers together and watching the strings of Martin’s arousal pull between them. Martin slowly sits back up, arms wobbling as they bear his weight again. As he slips his other leg down onto the floor, Elias looks at him, something inscrutable in his eyes. After a moment, he fixes Martin with a look that, on anyone else, could be called soft. Martin knows better than to buy into the façade.

“Perhaps we do have something in common, you and I,” Elias muses, reaching out to smear his slick fingers over Martin’s cheek and lips. He rubs his thumb across Martin’s bottom lip, the impersonal touch a perverted facsimile of intimacy. “The difference is that one day _I_ will have him. And you will be left just as wanting and alone as ever.”

Elias steps back and away, pulling a silk handkerchief out from a pocket and wiping the rest of Martin’s arousal from his fingers as he walks out of Martin’s line of sight. Martin stares blankly at the wall across from him, trying to mentally collect himself. He hears the sounds of Elias putting himself back together behind him and takes that as his cue to leave. He slips bonelessly from the desk onto shaking legs and gathers his clothes. He dresses in silence, wincing as his briefs stick uncomfortably to the slick coating his thighs, but willing to bear this discomfort to hide himself from Elias’s sight.

As Martin finishes buttoning his shirt, Elias comes back around to the other side of the desk. He looks composed and polished once again, save for a lock of hair that had fallen forward into his eyes as he fucked Martin ruthlessly into his desk. Martin feels his face heat up and he looks away, catching Elias smoothing it back out of the corner of his eye. He leans down to pull his shoes back on and when he stands upright again, Elias is back into his coat and looking exactly as he did when Martin first entered the room. Just as if nothing had ever happened.

Elias glances his way impassively before sitting back down at his desk. Martin shifts on his feet, unsure what happens now. Elias picks his pen back up and writes something brief onto a page in Martin’s employee file. He snaps the folder shut and looks up at Martin, face settled into a blandly pleasant, bureaucratic smile.

“Well, Martin, that seems to wrap up your performance review. All in all, barely acceptable—but acceptable still.” Elias meets Martin’s eye and his smile shifts again into that cold grin. “I do hope you’ll take what I said to heart.”

Elias looks back down, shifting Martin’s file to the corner of his desk and pulling another, slimmer manila folder towards him. “You can leave now,” he says, opening the file and dismissing Martin without a second glance.

Martin turns and numbly makes his way to the door. It takes him a moment to unlock it, fingers clumsy and fumbling as they shake from the unnamed emotion bubbling up in his chest. He swings the door open and is about to slip through when Elias’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“And Martin?” Elias calls after him, voice light and insincerely pleasant in the way that only Elias can manage. Martin stops, waits obediently to receive the final blow.

“ _Do better_.”

The image of Jon from this morning, his eyes sharp and lips twisted around those words, is forced into Martin’s head. He closes his eyes and gives one jerky nod before he makes his way out the door and into the hall beyond, forcing his mind blank. No use in dwelling on things he can’t have—not when he deserves this.

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to chuckee cheese, who this fic is dedicated to. also s/o to everyone on the discord server that watched me put my clown shoes on to write this and still supported me anyway. y'all the real mvps. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
